Page 164 of Happily Never After

“Can we get there without being seen?” He craned his neck.

“Let me.” She eyed the back of the property. Trees and shrubs were planted all around the outside edge of the yard. It wasn’t perfect, but they had no choice. Charlie could only stall for so long.

“I don’t like this,” he said.

“You’re going to like it even less when I tell you what comes next.” Claire hitched her dress up around her thighs and tied it into a knot. She got on all fours and crawled behind theshrubbery. A chipmunk skittered across her path and she nearly screamed.

With one eye on the cameras that continuously swept overhead, she crawled forward until she hit the next wall that flanked the property. She leapt behind a bush as one of the cameras swept toward her and prayed that it hadn’t caught her. When no one came rushing out of the house, she crept forward. There was the wet bar.

She slithered inside behind the counter and popped open the cabinet door. Vodkas, rums, and tequilas lined the shelves inside. She grabbed a bottle of high-proof tequila and shoved it down the front of her dress.

She was considerably closer to the house now. Whose voice was that? Charlie? A feminine laugh came from inside, and Claire exhaled noisily. Charlie was still okay. Maybe this crazy plan would work after all.

Claire reversed her course and crawled back among the foliage. She yanked the bottle of tequila out of her cleavage and handed it to Luke. He looked at it warily.

“You have to throw it in the front yard to draw the attention away from me,” she said, but her voice shook. “You have to go back outside the wall.”

He shook his head. “No way. If I throw it in the front yard, I won’t have time to jump back over before they start searching the property.”

“I know. But you have to do this. You’ve seen my hand-eye coordination. The chances of me throwing it over the fence, let alone in a good spot, is less than zero. Every second we waste right now is another second Bri could be tortured.”

A shadow fell over Luke’s face. He tucked the tequila into the inside pocket of his suit jacket—how was he still so clean? She looked like she had just crawled through a war zone. He grabbed her by both arms and drew her into him. Her arms snakedaround his neck. He kissed her like it would be the last time—and if they weren’t careful, it could be.

“Be safe,” she whispered to him when they broke apart. “Here.” She hiked her dress up even further and propped her leg out. “You need a boost. Put your right foot here, then I’ll cradle your left foot at chest level.”

“You sound suspiciously informed at scaling fences,” Luke said as he planted one dress shoe on Claire’s bare thigh.

“I did cheerleading in middle school.” She grunted as Luke put his entire body weight on her. He weighed significantly more than an eighth-grade girl.

“I want to hear about this later,” he said as he pushed off her chest and disappeared over the wall.

She took a moment to make sure her collarbone was still intact. There weren’t any bones protruding through her skin, so she crouched back down and waited. The minutes ticked by. Had Luke gotten lost? Had he thrown it yet?

In the distance, glass smashed on the ground. She peeked around a bush and craned her neck toward the house. Had they realized yet? The fire wasn’t visible from here, but she could smell it. It wouldn’t be long now.

Shouts echoed from inside the house. Was that the sound of the front door opening?

Claire’s phone buzzed. A text appeared.

Luke:Go NOW.

Claire slung her clutch across her torso and sprinted across the dark stretch of grass. She nearly slipped in the dew but pressed forward. The panicked shouts grew louder.

Finally, she hit the flower bed that lined the back of the house. Adrenaline propelled her forward. Using every last ounce of strength she had in her, she put her hands on the windowsilland hoisted herself up onto the ledge. She slid the window open and slipped inside.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

To Do:

- Punch some misogynist dicks

The bathroom wasdark and smelled strongly of cinnamon and cloves. Claire would have bet her last dollar that there was a container of artisanal potpourri somewhere. Using her phone flashlight, she crept across the ceramic tile. She paused at the door and listened.

The house was quiet. There were voices, but they were muffled as though they were coming from somewhere else. She held her breath and cracked the door open a centimeter. She was in a short hallway that seemed to run between the massive eight-car garage and the kitchen. Directly across from her was a Big Z concert poster in a diamond-studded frame. Was it safe to leave?

Footsteps approached. Adrenaline shot through her from head to toe. She opened the only other door in the bathroom and leapt inside. The potpourri smell was even stronger in here. The scent all but choked her.

“Fuckin’ feminists,” a male voice grunted. Shit. Was that balsam and cedar joining the god-awful scent party? Her fingertips went numb. It was the same as the cologne from the men’s rights convention. Big Z was in the bathroom.

---